One of those Days
by Eman On1
Summary: A new depth to the story is added along every question. Memory loss and secrets that everyone seems to know except Ginny. Who holds the key? A very sly deceiving Slytherin. Will he ever give her what she wants?
1. Intro

**Disclaimer**: Own nothin'.

**Note**: Not yet.

**Rating**: Varies.

It was one of those days.

The sun was shining through the windows on Ginny's right, highlighting the brownish color of her desk. Her hand looked paler under the sun's glare.

She was in class. You've got that right.

No. She was alone.

Sitting still, even after the bell's ring, and even after the professor exited the class.

Why?

Why not?

Haven't you tried it? The last person inside.

Obviously not.

You see, the room looks bare. The desks full. And the air cooler. It'll feel so strange. So new.

The last person inside.

"Weasley."

Hm.

She glanced once at him, and then back towards the window at her right. She noticed the absence of his robes, his tie, and the rolled up sleeves all in that one surreptitious glance.

He looked so casual, so ruffled. So strange.

She heard his shoes tap against the floor as he neared her place.

Funny. Echo exists in this class… People move out, echoes move in…

Ginny turned away from the two fledglings and their mother, giving them their privacy. It was an absurd thing to do, they were, after all, birds, but Ginny didn't think so.

She didn't follow most rules, and yet she rarely broke them.

Having nothing to occupy her, and not wanting to look at the boy, who was currently in the process of grabbing a chair to sit on. She loosened her hair and retied it again, this time a higher ponytail than before.

She felt his eyes on her hair as it came undone, but they strayed as her fingers clasped the loose curls to retie them.

He neared the chair to the front of her desk, so they faced eachother, and before he sat, he turned the chair towards him. And straddled it.

Her turn for her eyes to stray.

Sighing, she took out her notes and rearranged them. After much shuffling on her part, she stopped a minute and finally faced him. This was ridicules.

"You don't have to do this."

He looked at her, and his eyes questioned her point.

She sighed. Again. A small frustrated one.

"I don't want to be tutored by someone who doesn't _want_ to tutor."

"Again. Weasley. Your point?" He made a careless wrist gesture then, as if to speed her process of thought. To hurry. So he could get on with it.

Hm.

Surprisingly, her anger fled right then and there. Leaving only confusion as to why it did.

Maybe he had a point. Maybe there was no point in perusing his motives. Maybe, she should forget this and start getting tutored. What does she care if he didn't want to tutor her? Its not like she's dying of anticipation.

With a grim face she treaded, "Right. Potions then. I have problems with…"

* * *

She was walking outside the castle, just near the Forbidden Forest. It was cool, the air a lot colder than expected for a September evening.

Still, she lived for a night like this. Where the moon was round, and the stars ablaze.

The tutor session went smoothly. He wasn't as aggressive and merciless as he could be. But surprisingly, patient in his teaching. There were sarcastic remarks, and the occasional snarls, but all in all, it went smoother than expected.

Although…

She hated herself for thinking it, but she couldn't help herself…

They were facing eachother the whole time, sharing one desk. The times, in which she tried solving the problems he assigned, she couldn't help but wonder if he was looking at her or not. It was pretty girlish of her and she thought her self past these immaturities but it all goes back to one point. She couldn't help herself.

She'll wonder if he's looking, but then she'll look up and find his eyes staring bleakly outside the window. Always. Never at her.

And even when he looked straight at her while explaining, she felt as if he never actually saw her. She didn't feel the flicker in his eyes when she solves a hard question. Nor did she feel his legendry rebukes if she, god forbid, didn't understand.

Even when he remarks mockingly at her "dim-witted sloppy mistakes", his eyes would stray from hers towards the window. Even when he smirks. He'll smirk and mid smirk he'll turn towards, you guessed it, the window.

She felt so…Unwanted. Ugly. And Jealous.

Of a ….a window?

She reached the lake before she reached the end of her thoughts. The shores, as corny as it might sound, called to her, and the wind swirled about at her long skirt.

It truly called to her. The shores sang. Shushed and sprang in dark waves as if to greet her. Maybe even reprimand her for being so late.

But it called nonetheless. So seductive was its call, she found herself stripped to her underthings.

Of course, Ginny's underwear consisted of a white sleeveless top and a midthigh slip.

Not your average underwear, true. Not your average girl, though.

She felt so free. Any precautions were soon flung to mingle with the wind.

But things don't always go as planned. It was during the first bare steps that her feet took that she felt the presence of another. She cursed, but somewhere deep down; she knew she felt his presence long before she was reaching for the hemline of her sweater.

"Weasley"

It was, with a sudden clarity, that Ginny finally noticed how really cold it was.

"What are you doing here? I didn't know you were....I…You shouldn't…"

Rambling, that was what she was doing. A thing to distract her from him and his stray eyes. She laid her hands on her slip, trying to tug it over her exposed legs, but it was a hopeless feat and she knew it. His eyes were already past her legs and onto her semi transparent top…

"I can see the details on your bra."

_What?_ Her eyes widened.

Widened even more when she saw him saunter towards her.

".. Wh…Do.."

She was mumbling, just standing there, her face flushed, warming its way to her collarbones and below. He reached her and stopped not an inch away. Inclining his head slightly, he looked straight into her eyes.

Finally looked.

And touched the hand that was currently poised at her slip. Fear showed victoriously at Ginny's doorstep when she felt him. The hand grazing hers made her lips part, made the air rush through. Her widened eyes never left his. They still watched his impassive ones, even as his hand left hers to feel her thigh.

Here, she finally stepped away. _Far_ away.

Bastard.

He on the other hand, was as pokerfaced as ever. Merely tilting his head, as if what happened was a mere trifle _thing_.

Her hurt, guilty look didn't even faze him.

He walked the short distance she made away from him, and quickly closed in on her.

She made to move, but he quickly grabbed the back of her neck, holding her in place. His eyes were dark, and the snarl on his face forbid her to move away from him again. The sudden change, the abrupt transformation had Ginny transfixed with sick fascination. But he refused her even that. The glare was so intense that she closed her eyes in defeat, murmuring the first thing that called to her mind, "…what do you want?"

Here he pressed his lips against her cheek, letting her feel the full pressure of his smirk, as his hand snaked to her left shoulder.

And as he whispered her answer, Ginny felt his long fingers under her shirt…

_How the_ …?

…And as he blew cruelly, softly in her ear, she felt her bra's left strap righted in its place.

"It was bothering me" He explained, as he spitefully pecked the arch of her nose, finally leaving her alone in her daze.

To dress back and leave.

That was what he wanted.

"I want you to leave. Now."

* * *

At night, on her bed, in her prefect's room, away from him; she thought.

About today.

She knew that it would always be the first day, of one of those days.


	2. So afraid

**Note: **_That_ was just the intro, third person. The rest is first point of view: Ginny's. Hopefully it'll be much easier for all of us. But seriously, this story has taken a drastic u-turn into the dark side…**AN**: Loren Eiseleg owns the beginning excerpt: **N**ight** c**ountry.

…

…

…

_If you cannot bear the silence and the darkness, do not go there._

_If you dislike black nights and yawning chasms, never make them your profession.  
  
_

_It is a simple prescription, but you will not follow it. You will turn immediately to the darkness._

…

…

…

**Three days forward**

* * *

**L**ittle delicate whispers were blown...Teasing my eyelashes and tickling away at my nose...

_Open your eyes…_

_…Open up wide…_

I felt safe. I opened my eyes.

And found Darkness smiling. The fangs so sharpened, I bled from its sight. The eyes so wide; dilating with pleasure…

And my opened eyes were open still…

* * *

****

**I** woke up that night gasping and frightened…Those eyes were so…_Happy_…They took so much pleasure in hurting me.

They took and took and I bled. I cried.

It smiled. A sick grin, the fangs gleaming, laughing along…

I remember that night. Night.

I remember pausing on my bed, the white linen tangled about around my legs. I remember the strong scent of fear. The pulse of my rapid heart. The feeling of wave after wave of turmoil. I wanted to cry. Wanted someone to hold me.

And then I noticed.

This was not my bed.

****

**O**ne could imagine the hysterics that overpowered me at that moment. And even though I pride myself on my common sense, and otherwise level head- that second, that very moment, nothing mattered- except getting the hell out of there.

And I would have.

I would have, if it weren't for_ him_.

The instant my eyes widened and my left hand poised on the white linen covers- ready to fling it off and run like Hades himself was behind me- I felt the overpowering urge to scream.

I had no warning whatsoever, except for the doomed sense of something so terribly wrong…

His hand came over my mouth, and his other arm around my waist.

His body came over mine not a second later.

* * *

****

**I** bucked, I bit, I hurt so much trying to get him off. All the while not noticing that he kept my right arm above my head while I thrashed under him.

Somewhere, somehow, I listened to what he was whispering.

I have no idea what he said. Even now.

Though, I recognized the voice. The same delicate swirl of his tongue; the way he drawled the sounds to infinity, it seemed...

He sounded so feverish that night.

****

**W**e stayed glaring at eachother for what seemed like hours…Him on the top, and I, so helplessly under. 

His eyes were bright, dark, and still as menacing as before. His hand still tightly around my right arm, and the other on my mouth.

He whispered something, and looked intently at me. The confusion must have been evident, but nonetheless, his hand was off my mouth, but poised over it just incase.

I licked my parched lips. My throat feeling so dry, so rough.

He kept watching. At my small nod, his head, so surprisingly, fell tiredly on the nearest thing: My chest.

My slight '_oof_' obviously didn't deter him in the slightest, for he rested his cheek instead, and to all who may have been watching, fell asleep.

****

**D**uring those precious hours, I came to realize that I am in fact in the infirmary…With a broken right arm…

* * *

****

**T**he following morning was one like no other. Dull and morbid was the feeling around me. I remember feeling so heavy…Feelings that fogged my vision and tightened around my throat and wrists…

Panic was always there. Along with a hearty dose of hysterics.

In the midst of all the confusion, I turned my head away from its ceiling view. The white shine of it may have added to my agony, or maybe I felt the air not quite enough.

I remember only the sight of him.

Lying so lazily against the chair. Legs wide open, head lying against it back, revealing the vulnerable arch of his neck…

I sighed. What could I have done?

There were questions. Millions. Running around in my head…My heavy head…

Turning my head away, I faced the window instead. A bright sun greeted my sunken eyes and dead smile. Closing my eyes against its warmth, I tried to remember.

****

**W**hat happened? Yesterday?

Yesterday…Third time that we've met. For a tutor session. On potions…

What happened? Yesterday?

He taught. I listened. I talked. He ignored…

What happened? Yesterday?

He left at the end. Like always. I…

What happened…?

I followed…

Then..?

I …I…I don't remember…?…

Then..!?

I..I don't rem-

_Then_?!!

**_I.. don't.. remember…_**

* * *

__

I must have dozed off, judging from the slanted rays and the slight breeze that ruffled the white curtains at my left. Silently disoriented, I looked around and welcomed my surroundings with a bitter smile. Ah, yes, I remember now. I remember that I…don't really remember anything.

I felt frustrated.

Not only that, for one's feelings are never bordered and narrowed to one adjective. Never.

I felt radically tranquil, almost. And maybe even restful. All in all, emotions that didn't threaten to drown me in panic. Though, why I should feel this way, I never questioned. I just felt. Maybe it was the calm before the storm, eh?

Turning my head away from the open window, I adjusted the pillow against the headboard to support my back.

Lying there, my eyes kept following the movement of the branches, projected by the light, on the bed.

The sway of the leaves lulled me into false refuge, and while my lashes fell just so against my cheeks, the footsteps began to thunder.

"Why hello dear, finally awake I see. You gave us quite a scare, yesterday…You-"

Madam Pomfery. I tuned her out quickly, but she reeled me back when I noticed her pointing to my left. Oh, him. I forgot him.

"…Oh, he turned out good, didn't he? He found you, you know. Such a good boy, I bet he just got out of bed. Wanted to check on you. Poor boy. You know, he had us fooled when he was younger, but I guess with the death of his father and all…Poor bo-.."

A slight glance to my left and the 'poor' boy in question was directly in my view.

He was leaning tiredly against the chair, his cheek resting peacefully against his fist. The epitome of innocence.

It took him a fraction of a second- the moment her back was turned to fetch me a warm blanket- to shoot me a warning glare and a condescending smile at the poor woman's back.

I clutched my warm blanket. Felt its maroon fibers silk away against the skin of my fingers. The warmth.

I was so cold.  
My eyes so heavy.  
It felt so chilly.  
So alone…

She left soon thereafter. He wasn't the only actor.

I threw the cover as soon as I heard the click of the white solid door.

White.

I _hate_ the color.  
  
I started right away,  
  
"Tell me what happened to me."

A stare was all I got. It seemed assessing. Sly in its own way.

Then, a deliberate cross of the legs, a lift of the eyebrow, and a,

"Why don't_ you _enlighten me?"

I paused, the pulse raging under my calm exterior._ God, he wants to know how much he could get away with. _

_I have no time for such games._

I stood up, glaring, declaring, "I am going to Dumbl-"

I found myself on the bed again. He was straddling me, his hand ruthlessly cutting away at my broken arm, the one bandaged carefully around the wrist.

Yes, I felt calm. Still.

His face a couple of inches away, was as cold as the frosty evenings of winter, the angles as sharp as marble, as smooth as glass, so harsh…

He kissed me.

And I let him.

He tasted me. And I let him. My upper lip, he bit, nibble on, fed. On me.

He kissed the corners of my mouth. And I let him.

Tugged on my lower lip, when I forced my whimpers down. Clutched at my broken arm, when I tried to turn my head away.

Savagely crushed himself to me, when I opened up for him.

It felt so…wrong. So good.

Jolt after jolt of waves after waves of raging streams of emotions. I was drowning.

My right arm kept numbing behind, the pain feeling so distant…

He was still kissing me. And I let him.

Kissing and breaking for the tiniest gulp of air, and into me again. The feel of his lips, so warm, moving against me in rhythm, like the rest of him...I was so…

I found myself on top.

That's what.

His face was as frozen as before. I was on top, straddling him, and flushed from his work, ready.

I was framed.

I can hear the soft footsteps nearing our place. The soft undertone of Madam Pomfrey's humming. The sweep of her clothes…

I began to move away, but those long nimble fingers wrapped themselves around my wrists.

The sly mouth curved to carve an ominous smile that sent the same jolts streaming through and above me.

_Are you mocking me?_

I leaned against him, surprising him. The widening of his eyes was soon controlled though, leaving only a curious glint behind, and a raised condescending brow.

"You'll tell me later."

And then I was free.

Madam Pomfrey found me lying on the bed, lost to the deep clutches of sleep, the maroon blanket safely tucked over me.

Hm. The epitome of innocence.

* * *

I was out the following day. Greetings were met warmly. Hugs were returned. Awe struck adoring gazes were met with equal baffled ones…

_What the hell happened?_

Hermione, Harry, and my brother were walking alongside me during the first short peaceful hours outside the infirmary.

I wanted to ask. And I did. But I was only met with patronizing smiles and nervous glances. They left me alone after that.  
  
It seemed, after awhile , that my only true answer could be obtained only from one source only. And that source was not willing.

Able, but unwilling.


	3. Hard to Breathe

**

* * *

Disclaimer:** Own nothing.  
**Note:** All hail to thy confusion.

**Rating:** Pg13  
  
****

My words.

_I feel like  
Writing_

_The blackened_  
_Brush of my  
Ink_

_Scribbling away_

_The lopping swirls of  
My letters_

_My words_

_So sharp  
They almost bleed_

_Blackened red_

_They hurt, you  
Say_

_I write back,  
Instead_

_Choosing to_  
_Poke and  
Pierce you  
In return_

_Words  
They smirk_

_A life all their  
Own_

_You sob_

_They snicker_

_And stab  
Again_

…

**Three days ahead…**

**I** always wanted to do it. Sit alone and look ahead. Just sit there and feel the stars above. The grass below. The air around me.

Tried it?

Sitting alone.

On purpose.

* * *

**A**s the clouds swept a curtain across the golden surface of the moon, I felt the air quicken and the breeze pick up. My thin sweater could not provide enough warmth and besides I thought it wise enough to return to the castle.

After all, it was nearly an hour since I sat here. Alone. In the middle of the Quidditch Field. ( Not the lake. No, I wont go near the lake again.)

It was clear to me from the rumbling of my stomach, (for I missed Dinner), a late night visit to the Kitchens was in order.

**T**he great castles' door opened easily, despite its humongous size; the air and the musty smell of the castle hitting me directly as it shut behind me with a thud.

Home. Its familiar visage never dimming, its colors of brown and beige never fading, the woods and portraits never ending. Home.

Sighing, I traced the familiar steps that led up to the Kitchens. It was meant to be a peaceful contemplative walk. A walk where I can figure out how messed up my life got. How messed up it can further get.

That was the case at first. But then, right at the corner, the sounds began their echoes…

I crept closer, trying to decipher who it was that was whispering. Daring a glance, I was rewarded with the most unexpected, most peculiar, most-

It was_ him_. And Harry.

Together.

I quickly turned away, my back flushed against the wall, eyes wide open…

_What the hell?!_

"**Y**ou can't go tomorrow… it'll get dang-"

"_Cut it."_

"Listen to me! I am worried about you! You saw what happened to Ginny! Why don't you-"

"_Shut up!"_

There was a pause.

And I just had to look.

**T**hey were right infront of the portrait. The one that blocks the Kitchen's Entrance.

Although, as much as I was fascinated with the Kitchen's own portrait (for who wasn't when its main feature was a ticklish pear), at that moment, I was captivated by another.

Harry was the other portrait.

His appearance captured the essence of turmoil. The lines etched on his face. Cast across his lowered eyes. Molded into his hunched shoulders. His whole stance was emotion. Bold and clear. The strokes were solid and glistening in his eyes. He was truly and utterly distressed.

_About what?_

Him, on the other hand…A sculpture…He was stone and marble. No emotion and all ice. He just looked at Harry, a somewhat assessing gaze. I wasn't quite sure. It was too dark.

Thoughts churned and raged infront of my eyes. I left the startling picture those two made and stared at my feet instead.

_What's happening? What are they talking about? Why the hell is Harry talking to him? What are they doing?!_

**A** rustle of clothing soon interrupted my thoughts.

It was him that was moving. Snow man. Right across the wide length of space that separated him from Harry. Closer. And Closer. And Closer.

Oh god…

Harry now looked up from his forlorn pensive gaze. His eyes widened a little at seeing the black covered figure lethally approach him.

He stood his ground though. Even as the icy glares sliced him each step closer.

Soon _he_ stopped. And touched Harry's cheek tenderly, eliciting a soft sigh from the recipient.

"I was already informed." His words so hard, harsh, clipped. His fingers long, soft, and still caressing Harry's cheek.

"Leave, _now_. And stop bothering me." He stopped caressing now, moving away from the now disappointed Gryffindor, and turning to walk away.

"Listen." He cast a last demanding glare behind his shoulder, "Friday. 10 o'clock, I'll be-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence- a loud crash sounded before he finished it. It wasn't me.

I cursed, as a pair of eyes looked in my direction. I was luckily quick enough to hide behind the wall that shielded me, but I knew it was futile. I wont be quick enough or silent enough to steal away before they found me.

"Go. I'll find them."

But-

"Idiot. It'll be fewer questions to answer if they found us both. And besides, I am the Perfect. Go on. _Leave_!" He snarled behind him as he neared me.

I heard his footsteps tap against the marble floor, and prayed to God that he doesn't notice me. Move right past me. Ignore me. Like he used to.

No such luck.

He swept past me, true. But in the last minute, before going around the other corner and safely away from my hiding place, he paused. And looked straight behind his shoulder, meeting my eyes squarely.

I saw menace in there that night.

"Stay put. I'll deal with you after I deal with your friend."

_My friend?!_

* * *

_**S**tay put?_

The hell I will. I ran as soon as his steps stopped resounding. I ran as fast as I could. As silent as my fading slippers could manage. One slipped off. No matter. I ignored it and kept on running. I truly was frightened.

He scared me. I had no time to gather my thoughts. Scatter them around until they fit. Tie them together. Tie what Harry said. With what I already know..

But I had no time.

…

…

Two more staircases and then haven. Gryffindor tower.

One more step and then one more hall.

Around the corner…To the last staircase…

Yes! Gryffindor towe--------

…

…

No……..No………No…..!!!

* * *

**I** was mercilessly dragged down the steps that I not moments ago tripped on as I hurriedly ran across them in my haste.

He was brutal. The very word.

As he dragged me down the steps, by the hair, I couldn't help but wander away. I tend to do that when in pain..

Don't you?

Be anywhere but here. Feel anything but the pain.

Feel anything but the long fingers clutching savagely at the tangles of my hair. The one slipper as it slapped against the marble steps. My whimpers as they resounded across the Castle's walls…

I tried to wander, think of happy thoughts, I truly did. But there always were moments that zapped me right back in.

Moments of pure unadulterated pain that sting you back and welcome you into reality.

Moments. Things. Anything that hurts.

Like having your back sharply crash into a rough wooden wall.

Yeah, that'll do.

…Gone are the happy thoughts…

..Back are the dead icy eyes.

* * *

"**L**ook at me"

He had both his hands on the wall behind me, caging me in and leaving me no choice but to surrender.

I looked, and what I found I could not comprehend. I found the same lazy distracted look. Mixed with a calculating gleam. I could not understand how he could exhibit such strong emotions in one look, and yet be so closed and mystifying at the same time.

How savage and brutal he could be one second, and lazy and calm in the other.

I had no time to think it over, though. By now he had his fingers trailing and caressing at my cheek.

The slight feathery touch shocked me. True, it wasn't the first time, but giving our dire record together I could only come to one conclusion.

He wanted something.

"Ginny, honey," I snorted unbelievably. He ignored and continued, "I believe that you've overheard something that you shouldn't have." He now looked straight at me, his eyes wide enough to project all his false sincerity. He wrapped his long fingers, cupping my face to his, "I am not going to hurt you, dear." He kissed my forehead. So lovingly.

It sparked something inside, a false sense of security. Safeness, within his arms.

Of course, that was the most ridicules thing that I've ever said. But then again, I was feeling it.

But I knew it was planned. A touch here and there. A whisper, so delicate, smooth. A warm hand resting on my hips, grabbing me nearer. To his warmth. To share it.

He was good.

Really good, and that is why I found myself wrapped up in the feel of him. Letting him touch me, pull me nearer, and feed me his sleek sugared lies.

It was only after he pecked me on the arch of my nose, did I decide to put an end to this. I blamed myself all the while, as I suddenly pushed him away, for detaining this.

I should have been put in Hufflepuff.

* * *

**I** was angry. With myself, I wasn't sure. With him, I was positive. As my anger swelled, I missed the sudden telltale signs on his face.

The sudden straining of his ears, and the narrowed eyes, as he, in all outward appearances, listened.

And then, he smiled. Which freaked the living daylights out of me. A devilish smile that promised eternal hell. His look so transformed him, I found my anger quelled. For a while. Until I heard what he said,

"Ginny, dear." He was still smirking. His hands in his pockets, casually. The devilish arch of his eyebrow still present.

He wasn't even trying.

"I am afraid that if you don't tell me who that person that you've been _oh so cleverly_ spying with on us- me and _Blaize_-" Here, he cast me a long narrowed look. "Then I am afraid that I wont be held responsible if_ Blaize_ decides to take action, if word gets out. You know how ruthless he can get. So, better you and your friend shut up about this. Or else."

All through his tirade, he kept glancing at his left the whole time. After a pause or so, he laughed.

An evil condescending laugh.

"Idiot." He snorted. An elegant snort, I hated to notice.

Glancing now freely about him, he now looked at me.

The normal way. Like he always does.

A careless distracted gaze.

And here, I am afraid, came the inevitable.

I blew up.

* * *

**I** never was explosive around him. Never loudmouthed. In the contrary really, I matched his mood whenever I could. Which was always a careless dispatched attitude. Which explains my quietness around him. I didn't want him to think I cared. Or was delighted with his presence. Even in the short time that he tutored me, I paid close attention to exude the same aloofness he showed towards me.

I was now showing emotions nowhere near the same coldness I tired to imitate.

I was snarling for God's sake… I never do. In fact, I never hiss my words in anger. Nor do I point out my aggravations. I don't sneer and scoff. I don't growl out accusations and I certainly do not cross my arms like a child at the end of a fit.

That inevitably changed.

Soon, I found my wrists snatched, uncrossed savagely, and pinned harshly against the rough wooden wall.

I had no time to recall what I shouted, nor time enough to gather my breath before it was soon gushed out by the hard impact of the wall.

"**Y**ou shout like a banshee, you know that?"

I whimpered.

"You idiot." He laughed derisively.

I glared.

"I wasn't speaking to you. And I know it wasn't Blaize, Weasley, all this was a charade. Your 'friend' was listening on us just then. Yes, that's right. I was speaking to your 'friend'-"

Here, I tried to stop his hurtful mocking attitude by declaring once and for all that I have no idea who that person is. But he cut me off by tightening his hold on my wrists. It hurt like hell.

" I know. You don't know who it is, do you?" At my small relieved nod, he turned serious. "Then we have a deal, I suppose."

He sounded so disgusted.

"You don't tell anyone its Harry. Even if that 'friend' comes and speaks to you, you say it was Blaize. Understood? No one should know, no, not even the Mudblood and the Weasel." At my defiant hurt look, he shook my wrists and banged them on the wall.

I screamed and slithered downward. The veins were pulsating harshly against my skin, his hold was so tight.

It hurt.

He ignored, and lifted me up by the wrists, so as to make me level with his face.

"A word never gets out, Weasley. Mark my words, if they do."

Even as my vision blurred, I could distinctly feel his glare, feel its intimidation and the sudden sparks of trepidation it shot through me.

But somehow, I found defiance in pain. Boldness in the hurt. And I blurted the first thing I thought of that might tick him off,

"..The other part of the deal? My part?" I whispered sourly.

"You get to live."

* * *

**B**astard.

I cursed at him. Three languages.

He smiled, scathingly. Hurting me all the more and cutting through my outburst by a little twist of the wrist.

I screamed, opening my mouth wide enough to elicit the horrible sob that racked through me.

I slid along the wall, crying.

He kneeled down along with me, his hands still clutching my wrist.

At least, he allowed my feet to rest…

"You like it rough don't you?"He whispered in my ears. Softly, " You don't like those sweetened lies I give you. You want more, don't you?"

"I want the truth."

"Anything but that."

"Why not?" I sobbed. In to his chest.

"Because I cant."

Such simple words, they burned a vile path down my throat. Scorching my eyes, watering them until I could see no more. I hated. That was all.

"Why cant you tell me?! How come Harry knows?! Who also knows? What have I done to you? Do you hate me that much?! Just tell me, and I promise I wont talk to you again- I- promise…I wont bother..I wont be a bother..I promise…Why cant you.."

I was crying hysterically. Shaking against the wall, away from him. My hands above me, my tears across my face.

I felt his breath against my lips. I moaned. For the hurt or for him, I wasn't sure.

His hands tightened. Involuntarily, I couldn't tell, but the effect it caused was another gasp.

"Open up, wider." He tightened his hold, and I opened up to scream, my mouth wide open for him. His voice strained, urging, "Yes, please."

He took me. All of me. His mouth taking over my already opened one. The scream lost between us, quickly transforming its melody into a trembling beat of pleasure.

He was so urgent. He needed so much. He took and moved. All over me. We both moved, against the wall. Harsh sounds of my back scraping against it. And my harsh breathing. His lips. Taking mine and feeding on it repeatedly. My arms still pinned, his hands messaging my wrists then moving away. Downwards. On me.

**

* * *

**

**H**e looked as if deprived. I felt so powerful that night, even though I craved him as much.

I broke the kiss as soon as that thought crossed my mind.

He didn't object, slithering his hands away from my hips. And turning away, before meeting my eyes with his now calm icy ones.

"You shouldn't have followed me that night."

He left, but not before taking out my pink slipper from his back pocket and throwing it next to me.

That had one question answered: How he found me.

But then again, that was one in a million.

I had a long road ahead.


	4. In Shades of Grey

**  
BOLD **

"Hermione, pass the salt."

"Herm. Salt."

"Harry, you're closer to her. Please, slap her for me. Maybe that'll get that glazed look off her face."

Ron was now drawling sarcastically, eyeing the truly preoccupied look on Hermione's features with a smirk twitching his left lip.

A moment.

Two.

Three.

SLAP.

"_Honestly_, Ron! God, that hurt!" She screeched while rubbing hotly against her upper arm, momentarily unaware of all the stares she received from the Gryffindors next to her: Dean, Lee, Seamus, Colin, Lavender, and Parvati.

But it only took a moment.

Then the buzzing of talking began its chronic humming amongst the Gryffindor table again.

After all, this was nothing short of the usual.

"Its not like we're in class," She continued hissing, pointedly ignored the snort coming from Harry and the shocked revolted look on Ron's, continuing logically with a, "So, I am completely entitled to pass the time however I like. So, there."

Hermione smiled slightly at Ron's disappointed look, laughing it off to show him that she was actually kidding. Ron, now somewhat mollified, half glared while replying crisply,

"'Mione. Just pass the salt."

Laughing, the trio did not notice the red head until the screeching of her chair announced her arrival.

"Hello there sunshine." Ron called, ruffling his sister's hair fondly, and earning himself a scandalized glare. Laughing it off, he turned to Harry, who was sitting infront of him, and then towards the guys at his left and started the never tiring topic of-

"So, Qudditch, guys-"

Aha.

The girls looked at eachother in mock surrender, sighing upward and grinning when they earned an elbow to the rib from the injured party.

The chatted happily, the grins setting the boy's faces a flush. Colin's mischievous grin before it disappeared behind his pumpkin juice. The freeing boyish laugh that erupted from the bottom of Dean's heart, throwing back his head in glee. Lee and Seamus eyeing his joy with a smirk all their own, and the laughter erupting from the girls at Dean's wild abandon. Their grins a glowing radiance that seemed to make them all the more handsome a group.

They seemed happy, right?

All of them, eh?

Are you sure?

Hn, look again.

No one would have seen the tight clasp Hermione had on her hands, under the table. No one would have believed the searching glances Harry sent across to the Slytherin Table. The nervous butterflies plaguing Ron's stomach.

Ginny surrendered her head to her palms, as soon as the group left the trio and her alone.

She had no idea why it seemed safe for her to shake off the smile and push away the fake laughter from her self.

"Ginny,"

Sliding her palms downwards until only her eyes showed, Ginny gazed at Hermione in perfect understanding.

Oh, yeah.

It was just the timing.

"We need to talk."

* * *

**L**eaving soon thereafter, Ginny looked back once behind her shoulder, only to see both Harry and Ron engrossed with another topic it seemed. If from their slowly darkening faces and the tense muscles on Ron's neck, it was safe to say it was not Qudditch. Ginny's eyes lingered on Harry for a while, and distrust could be seen swimming in their depth. Then they moved to her brother and finally to Hermione, who walking besides her oblivious to her hurtful expression.

_Could it be that they all know? Or just Harry? _

I had a feeling. The minute I laid my head to rest last night. I knew it was her. And the anxious gazes she kept sending me throughout breakfast and lunch were enough to prove that.

_My friend._

We walked in silence; both agreeing tacitly that our talk should take place outside Hogwarts.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No."

"Is he following you?"

"No."

"Are you su-"

Whirling around to look her in the eyes, I voiced my former reply in a firmer voice.

She looked placated for a while, but then she looked past me and tugged at her blouse in a nervous manner.

I sighed inwardly,

"Hermione. There's nothing wrong. You and I were both there at the wrong time in the wrong place."

Absently, I wondered whom I was lying to, Hermione or myself? And how much of what I said was true or just figment lies? Was she really? Did she know it was Harry and not Blaize.

"He just caught me and not you."

I added a bitter smile just for the affect, and true, it earned me another sour looking frown.

"I am sorry, I should have stayed. Did something. I shouldn't have left you- what kind of friend am I- Ginny,"

She ended helplessly, before blurting suddenly, "What were you doing there, anyways?

"Kitchen. You?"

I added the question for no reason at all, not really expecting an answer, or if I actually was graced with one, it would probably be a lie that rivaled my own.

I wasn't exaggerating, and I wasn't angry at all. The trio had their secrets just as I did. And I just wasn't interested like everybody seemed to be. But then again, I had a right to know what happened, since obviously something happened or else I wouldn't be met with constant nervous glances and blank answers and _death threats._

We were walking near the Qudditch field, the pause after my question stretching on to fill the miles we walked. It didn't bother me; I was more interested in the woods we were walking next to than our conversation.

It was when I was admiring the greenish vegetation and how the olives and yellow mingled together, how the sun brightened the tree trunks and set the red flowers amidst their leaves alight, that she struck me with her answer:

"I was…I was waiting for …Ron."

"What?"

"Don't stare. Your eyes bulge unbecomingly."

Somehow, I had the distinct notion that I've heard this before.

So, slowly getting over the fact that my brother and Hermione were conducting a secret hidden love affair behind our backs, our conversation took on a mellower tone.

I had no problem with this whole arrangement, but to say the truth, I was glad they kept it a secret. It would have been awkward enough with me, never the less with Harry.

Though there was one thing bothering me. How calm and composed Hermione was with Ron's playboy habits. I mean, the guy changes girlfriends every week. He's my brother, but that's just revolting.

In fact, if I wasn't mistaken, wasn't he dating that girl from Ravenclaw this week? Tiffany?

Just as I was about to voice out my question, we came upon a clearing near the forest.

And as Hermione involuntary stepped back, I inwardly marked this day as the second time I was wholly shocked into speechless enthrallment.

* * *

**W**hat is it that thrills me to the core? That leaves me half disgusted and half tempted to join in?

Wicked.

The very word, eh? Do you like black or white? Bad or good?

These questions played with me. Snickering at me and glaring snidely as I looked. Kept tugging at my senses and asking over and over again what I liked.

Even as I kept watching.

Black or white? Good or Bad?

I couldn't decide.

But I kept watching.

And watched still I did.

Why don't you watch too? Why don't you join me, ha?

But wait:

Black or white? Good or bad?

He was stretched on the grassy earth, the tall masses of greenery cushioning his long legs against it. His back lazily draped against the sturdy trunk behind him.

His dark hair blown and caressed by the wind; a small tiny lift of his mouth against its whispers, as if he was letting her lift his hair away from his eyes, tolerating her touch only this once.

And the wind didn't mind being used. Used by Blaize.

Are you watching with me? Then you know there's more, don't you?

I seem to always run into him.

_Him. _

The one lying cozily against Blaize's chest. Content with tearing away the young rosy petals of a once glittering flower; a sadistic narrowness to his eyes and a lazy happy _smile_.

He leaned heavily against Blaize, stretching his legs between him after satisfying himself with the destruction of a once beautiful thing.

It was a moment etched in my mind.

The two of them. Under the glorifying setting rays of orange, red, and amber. Wearing black and lazy smiles, gazing outward and forming the eerie picture I saw inside the frame that was my vision.

Did they notice us? Would they care? Would we be in trouble?

Ha?

Black or white?

I was still shocked. Hermione and I both stood still, afraid that any movement would inform them of our presence.

After all, stealthy and cautious we could be, there will always be a twig waiting to broken and we just couldn't risk the cliché.

But we were spared the trouble.

They already know, it seems.

Are you watching with me still?

Do you see Blaize look at us?

Muttering something to the blonde in his arms, who was still watching the sunset.

A neglectful half shrug was all he gave as a reply.

That made me angry. Surprisingly so.

Surprisingly so much that I at once turned towards the still shocked Hermione and grabbed her by the arm, intending to turn away and move- faar away- from the two Slytherins.

That was I wanted to do.

Before I got sidetracked that is.

* * *

**F**unny, how darkness can spread. Its stems and vines curl faster than the glorifying rays of Dawn. How it twists and cloaks everything with its mark:

Dying rolling shades of blue.

Funny, the sun has set---

---And that's when I got sidetracked.

When _he _finally decided to look away from the sun and grace us with his attention.

And I felt…

He smiled at me. A terrifying half flash of his white teeth. Somehow, he wasn't human at all. Something else that shook me breathless.

Uncoiling from the ground-both of them at once-they resembled their house so much that we both stepped back from the lazy half glare they gave us.

Are you watching still?

Then I suggest you stay put. They're walking towards us. We should represent our house and stand brave, don't you think?

Hn, two lionesses against two slithering snakes.

This should be fun.

"'Mione."

"Don't call me that!" She snarled.

Blaize was the first to speak and the first word was uttered with relished venom. Half lidded eyes and a personal tone to his tongue, it was not a surprise that she was angered, because he made it sound so…special. Intimate.

And it wasn't. He made sure she saw the half amused half revolted smirk on his handsome face.

"Why wont you let me."

_What?_

"What?!" She was surprised, looking hard at his now blank face, trying to see what he was playing at.

"Really, you can't stop me. I'll call you 'Mione whenever I like. In fact, my Head Boy here doesn't mind. And your friends don't seem to at all, actually, if I remember correctly, " and here he paused as if he was truly trying to remember; the smirk widening by the second, "They seemed to- what was the word?"

"Beg."

I was startled to hear his voice; I knew he was there next to me, but I was avoiding him like the plague. And I was succeeding since he kept quiet all this time.

Until now. And that's where my dam broke.

And I looked at him. And felt…

He spared me a glance, right into my eyes he looked. Straight. I wondered how he did it. Since he never looked at me since they approached us, even the short walk towards us, he was looking at the ground with this strange slight smile.

But he looked. And then looked away at Hermione.

Who was glaring like mad at him.

Not Blaize. But at him.

And he was lazily smiling back at her.

And as she risked a glance towards me, I felt certain that his conversation was about something more.

Something bigger than a damned nickname.

"You." Hermione snapped at Blaize.

And the two left, somewhere towards the forest, disappearing and leaving me alone.

With him.

"Hi."

He was acting. I was certain.

"How was your day, Ginny?"

I hated this part. Where he acted like we were long time friends. Like he was actually a nice guy with no hidden agenda.

Apparently the disgust was waving like a red banner, showing through every part of my face, since he stopped talking and just stared.

And I stared.

It was getting awfully dark.

And I was…scared.

And he knew it. Damn it, but why must I be so obvious.

Drawing near me, my feet glued to the forests floor, he closed in on me and gazed into my eyes.

Lovingly.

And I felt…

"I missed you."

His fingers fingering the strands near my eyes- my blank staring eyes.

Suddenly he laughed, a sickening disdainful laugh that hurt so much.

"You're not buying this, are you?" He waited for no answer but turned his back to me and strolled away to stop and look at the place he occupied before we found them.

What was this? What was he playing at?

Suddenly, I heard no more voices. During this strange exchange between the two of us, I was hearing Hermione's exclaimed shouting and if I concentrated enough I could distinguish her words,

" Why are you being so headstrong, you arrogant prick!"

"No, you wont! I wont allow it!"

"Why? Why! Because I don't trust you!"

And I would have figured out the rest if it wasn't for him.

Remember? He touched me. And that was a distraction.

A planned move to make me forget the words shouted.

And do you know what I hate?

I knew that. And yet I still was distracted.

I felt…

"Weasley. Wipe that look off your face." I stared dumbly back at him," Any death plans you planned for me in that little head of yours wont work. I've been through it all."

Strangely, I believed him. But his voice…Was the normal tone. The lazy yet polite indifference towards me and anything that didn't prove of value to him.

And I was angry.

And so, I said the first thing that popped into my 'little head' of mine.

" What's to happen. On Friday."

I found myself pricked, held still by an intense glare.

"Don't you get it, Weasley? Don't you understand? Forget everything" He pronounced the last with deliberate slowness as if he was talking to a 3 year old.

I couldn't help it. The look on my face.

It was almost night outside. And the lights were lighting the ground, the yellow shadows emitting from the castle's windows highlighting the tear sliding down my cheek.

I didnt expect anything from him.

I didn't expect anything, and that was why I was crying.

Don't you get it, he says. Yes, I do! I wanted to shout. There are millions of questions and now one has just been added. And I cant take it anymore. And I am tired. And hurt. Because I cant speak to anyone about it. Even the ones close to me are not letting me in. What have I done to deserve this? Why did I follow him? Was one hour of curiosity worth this much? One hour that I don't even remember?

Was it worth it?

Maybe. I'll never know.

I felt his arms around my waist, his chest against my back, and my head nestled under his own. The tears kept rolling down and the pace was not of my choice.

Hiccups and sobs and wailing, I let myself go.

And I couldn't see anymore. Nor did I feel.

I wanted comfort. And there was only one source.

And so I turned and buried myself inside of him.

And kept crying.

And was kept successfully unaware of the pitying look that was aimed at me from Hermione.

* * *

ANote. 

I see. I know, I know. Nothing answered; just one more question added to the pile. I like to torment my heroine, it seems.

But fear no more. Salvation is on the way...Hopefully


End file.
